


leash and collar

by ymorton



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 13:42:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13389012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: someone requested emjon/emjonjon, leash and collar... sorry????100% fake and silly and only for my own amusement. please don't show to anyone mentioned. please respect boundaries and the fourth wall. thank you!





	leash and collar

**Author's Note:**

> someone requested emjon/emjonjon, leash and collar... sorry????
> 
> 100% fake and silly and only for my own amusement. please don't show to anyone mentioned. please respect boundaries and the fourth wall. thank you!

“Hurry up!” Lovett hears from the front porch. 

“I’m _coming_!” he yells back, fumbling in Emily and Jon’s doggy drawer for a collar. “Pundit, c’mere. We’re going for a run.” 

Pundit stays where she is, curled up on the mat in front of the sink. She hates runs. 

“ _Pundit_. Come.”

“Dude!” Jon yells from outside. “Come on!”

Lovett curses and grabs the first collar he can find, some black leather thing that fits a little loose on Pundit, but that can’t be helped. He clips in her leash and scrambles to his feet.

“Okay, okay, we’re ready,” he says, breathless, closing Jon’s front door behind them, almost clipping Pundit’s tail. “Relax.”

“We have a meeting in an hour, Lovett.” Jon’s all dressed up like they’re off to Crossfit, in some stupid cutoff shirt that shows off his arms. He has his Ray-Bans on like a real LA asshole. Lovett forgot his sunglasses on his counter and, shock of all shocks, it’s really fucking sunny out. “C’mon, I wanna get at least a couple miles in.” 

“I hate this,” Lovett grumbles, tugging Pundit’s leash. 

“You’re the one who decided to start running again in 2018. Come on, dude. It’s not even February.” 

“Most resolutions are abandoned within a few days,” Lovett says. “At least I lasted three weeks.”

“You ran one time on our entire trip. And you came back with croissants.” 

“Irrelevant. The trip didn’t count.”

“So by that logic, 2018 starts now. And you've lasted _no_ weeks.” Jon grins over at him.

“Shut up,” Lovett groans. He’s starting to hit the point where the conversation turns one-sided because he’s too out of breath. He’s pretty sure that’s the only reason Jon likes running with him, so he can talk uninterrupted. Even Pundit’s in the spirit now, loping happily along next to him like a traitor. “Can we- can we stop at the Coffee Bean first? I need an iced latte.”

“ _Lovett_ ,” Jon chides. 

“Fine,” Lovett manages, as Jon starts running faster. Apparently he was just jogging before. “At least wait for me. I don’t have seven foot long legs like you do, give me a fucking chance.” 

\--

He goes back to Jon’s after their meeting, because Pundit’s there and Jon has way too much leftover Blue Apron he can’t finish with Emily gone. Lovett’s a good friend, he’ll help.

He’s flipping channels and sipping a beer when Jon flops down on the couch next to him, yawning into his elbow.

“Football?” he says hopefully. “Pats are playing.” 

Lovett snorts. “Absolutely not.”

Jon sighs and pats the couch next to him til Pundit hops up and climbs in his lap. “Hi, buddy.”

Lovett finally settles on an Office marathon. He turns the volume up and takes a gulp of beer.

“Really?” Jon says. “There’s like twenty minutes left of the game, Lovett. You've probably seen this episode fifty times.” 

“My house my rules,” Lovett says, without taking his eyes off the screen. 

“This is my house, you asshole,” Jon says, laughing. He kisses Pundit’s head, rubs her neck and then says- “Wait, where did you-”

He stops abruptly. Lovett looks over at him. Jon’s head is bent and he’s undoing Pundit’s collar, brows furrowed.  

“I borrowed one of your collars,” Lovett says. “Because I forgot to put hers back on after her bath yesterday. Is that a problem? I was gonna give it back.”

“Nope,” Jon says, ears red. He yanks the collar off Pundit’s neck so fast she almost falls off his lap. “It’s fine.” 

“Can you not manhandle my dog, please?” Lovett peers at him curiously. “What is with you?” 

“Nothing!” Jon says in a high voice.  


“I need that to take her out later-” Lovett reaches for the collar and Jon yanks it away. 

“ _Stop_.” 

“What’s wrong with you? Give me the stupid collar.” 

“You can have a different one.” Jon’s unsuccessfully trying to stuff the collar in the pocket of his skin-tight jeans. “Emily just got a bunch online.” 

“What is the-” Lovett manages to snatch it out of Jon’s hands. “What is your problem?” 

“Lovett!”

“You’re being weird.” The tag on the collar is shaped like a heart and says, in curling script, _Property of Emily Black Favreau_. “Why are you being so-”

He turns the tag over. _JON_ , it says on the other side.

Lovett gapes at it, dumbstruck, until Jon snatches it out of his hand.

“Give me that,” he says belatedly.

“Wait, did that- do you-” Lovett gapes at his empty hands, and then looks up at Jon. Jon’s bright red and trying to fit the thing in his pocket again. “Was that…”

Jon starts to stand up.

“Was my dog wearing a _sex_ collar?” Lovett gasps. “Do- do _you_ wear a sex-”  

“Shut up, Lovett.”

“Oh my _god_.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Jon says again, and he pushes himself up from the couch and disappears upstairs. Lovett hears his pounding footsteps and sits back, eyes wide, processing. Pundit butts her head against his thigh and he scoops her up and hugs her tight. His poor dog was wearing a- a sex collar! It could’ve had _bodily fluids_ on it! Bodily fluids on his innocent angel! 

Lovett kisses Pundit’s head fiercely, rocking her back and forth. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into her fur. He shuts his eyes, exhales shakily. Does Jon actually wear that? Does Emily- put it around his neck and- and- make him wear it? Good _god_ , does she put a leash on him? Lovett has a sudden, unwanted vision of Jon naked on all fours, eating Chipotle out of a doggy dish, and he shakes his head violently to ward it off. Pundit squirms out of his suffocating grasp and hops off the couch.

Finally Jon comes back downstairs, empty-handed. His face is damp like he splashed it with water and he carefully doesn’t make eye contact as he sits back down. 

“So,” he says, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. “Can we catch the end of the game?” 

Lovett stares at him. Jon coughs into his elbow and squints at the TV.

“Are you serious?” 

“I’m changing it,” Jon mutters, flipping channels. “This is my house. We’re watching sports.” 

“Jon, are you seriously going to-”  
  
“ _Shit_ ,” Jon says to himself. “We were up when I last checked. C’mon, guys.”  
  
“Jon Favreau, you are not going to football-bro your way out of this. You are not going to _distract_ me with meaningless patter about touchdowns and- and penalties-”

“I’m watching the game,” Jon says, not looking at him. “Shhh.”

Lovett’s mouth drops open. No one shushes him. _No one_.

“Jon-”

“Lovett,” Jon says, and his voice breaks. “Let’s just watch the game.” 

Lovett glares at the side of his head with all his might. A muscle in Jon’s cheek tightens, the one that always starts twitching when he’s distressed.

Lovett warily settles back into the couch cushions.

“Fine,” he says, pulling out his phone. “But this isn’t over.”

Jon ignores that in favor of groaning as some unfortunate football thing happens on screen. Lovett’s halfway down his Twitter timeline when he feels Jon’s eyes on him. He looks over to find Jon staring at him, eyes dark.

“You better not be telling Tommy,” he mumbles, face all red again.

“Telling him what?” Lovett says, very innocent. "Oh, about the sex collar?" 

Jon gives him a look.

“It’s not a- a-” he rolls his eyes and turns back to the TV. “Just don’t tell him.”

“Got it. Won’t mention the sex collar. Are there any other things I shouldn’t mention? Like a sex leash, or maybe sex treats-” 

“Shut up, Lovett.”

“ _Is_ there a leash involved? Do you have to buy that special, or can you just use Leo’s?”

“Lovett, I swear to Christ.” 

Lovett snorts happily, and tucks his knees up to his chest, opens up a text to Emily. He’s never letting this go, never ever. It’s too good.

 _Emily._ , he types, grinning at his phone. _Explain something to me._

“Who are you texting?” Jon says, suspicious.

“No one,” Lovett says sweetly. Emily’s already responding, he can see the three dots. “Just your master.”   
  
“ _Lovett_ -” Jon snaps, reaching for the phone. Lovett wriggles away from him, laughing.  

“I have some questions about- about your care and handling!” he chokes. Jon wrestles him onto his side and digs under him for the phone. “When should I feed you? How often do you need to be walked?”

Jon growls and snatches the phone out from under Lovett’s ass, holds it away from him with one of his freakishly long arms. 

Lovett’s breathless from laughing so hard. “Please don’t bite me,” he says, holding out a hand. “Good doggy. Shh, it’s okay.”

“You’re such a dick.” 

“Gimme my phone back.” Lovett holds out a palm. “Jon, _drop_.” 

Jon glares at him. “I should throw it in the fucking pool.” 

“Androids are waterproof,” Lovett says smugly. “So you can try.”

“So are iPhones, you dick.” 

“Like two years too late. Remember when you dropped yours in the urinal at Nobu?”

“You bring that up every single time like that really makes up for everything else shitty about Androids.”

“Like what? Name one thing.” 

“Lovett, you take photos on my phone and send them to yourself. Whenever you take a selfie on your phone you say you look like the guy from Monk.”  

Lovett narrows his eyes at him and beckons for the phone. That’s a low blow. They don’t talk about the camera. Jon looks a little guilty as he hands it back.

Emily’s responded- _?? What’s up?_

“Just don’t be a dick,” Jon says. “Or I’ll tell Tommy about the time I caught you jerking off with that Stormtrooper helmet on.”

Lovett gasps. “You swore you’d never mention that.”

Jon stares determinedly at the TV. “Desperate times,” he says.

“Fine,” Lovett says, deleting his half-written text to Emily. He’ll make something up later. “Mutually assured destruction. I can appreciate that.” 

Jon nods, and tosses Lovett the remote. “You pick.”


End file.
